Wed Him Before You Bed Him (18 page)

“Neither did I.”

Jimmy had been a good lover, considering her own inexperience. But even when he had made her cry out in bed, she had always been conscious of holding a little part of herself aside, never giving herself wholly.

Now she knew why. That part of her had belonged to David.

And he seemed bent on taking it with thorough efficiency. He was making her insane, and the endearments
he whispered only heightened her pleasure. He pulled her legs up more until he was strumming her sweet spot with every thrust, rousing her to greater and greater heights as he thundered over her, around her, inside her.

“Heavens, David,” she gasped, straining against him as she felt her release stealing over her like a thief bent on wresting away her soul. “Yes…oh yes…oh my word…”

“Charlotte…my own…wonderful…Charlotte,” he rasped, and then drove into her so deeply she climaxed. As her flesh tightened on his in waves, he pumped his seed into her with a hoarse cry.

It was ecstasy beyond any she'd ever known. She could feel her heart pounding to the same tempo as his, and finally understood what the marriage vows meant by the two becoming one.

He had thoroughly crashed through her wall. And it would be nearly impossible to pile the bricks up against him this time.

D
runk with contentment, David lay on the pallet with Charlotte in his arms. After all these years, she was his at last. He would never let her go now. He wouldn't even let Cousin Michael come between them.

He wished he'd never invented the fellow. But then, he would never have had this with Charlotte if he hadn't.

“What is that frown for?” she asked lightly.

She had raised her head up from his shoulder with a minxish look that set his pulse racing anew. One of her surprisingly long legs was draped over his knee, and her soft breasts were pillowed against his chest.

She had such pretty breasts, too—full and dimpled, with pink, pouty nipples. Just the thought of tasting them roused his cock from slumber.

“I was merely wondering how long it would be before we could do this again,” he said, caressing one of those lovely breasts.

“We?”
she teased. “I am ready again now.”

“I know,” he said dryly. “Women have all the luck. But as it happens, this was my second performance today, so it will take me a while longer to recover.”

When the light faded from her eyes, he cursed his clumsy tongue and quickly held up his hand. “Meet your competition. A man has to do
something
to take the edge off his lust when a certain female is driving him out of his mind.”

As comprehension dawned, she let out a shaky laugh. “If you mean what I think, Lord Kirkwood, then you are very naughty indeed.”

He chuckled. “I know I shouldn't say such outrageous things to a proper schoolmistress, but you bring out the devil in me.”

“You just enjoy shocking me, that's all.” She snuggled close to kiss his neck, her gorgeous hair catching the light like golden threads in red damask.

He ran his fingers along her downy shoulder, marveling at the creamy perfection of her skin. “You don't look very shocked.”

“That is only because a schoolmistress always has to affect an expression of serenity. Otherwise, her pupils misbehave just to see her reaction.” Her hand played over his chest. “But inside, I assure you I am rapping your knuckles with a ruler.”

The very idea roused his mischievous bent even more. “Shall I tell you what I was thinking about while I was boxing the Jesuit this morning?”

“B-Boxing the Jesuit?” she sputtered.

He grinned. “It means—”

“I can guess what it means!” she said, half-laughing. “But bringing religion into it makes it sound even more wicked.”

“That's the point, isn't it?” He smoothed her hair over her shoulder, his smile fading. “Anyway, as I lay in my lonely bed, I was imagining you lying in it, too.” Seizing the moment, he added, “All the time. As my wife.”

She caught her breath and her amusement vanished, replaced by a wary expression. “You mustn't say that.” She pushed away from him.

His joy plunging, he grabbed her before she could leave him. “Why not? I want to marry you, Charlotte.”

“You're still in mourning,” she pointed out as she knelt beside him, on the verge of bolting.

“Only for six more months.”

Her solemn gaze met his. “And then what?

“What do you mean?” He sat up and crossed his legs, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

“I mean, what role would I play in your life?”

“What
role
?” Her reaction to his proposal twisted his gut into knots. He should have realized it was too soon to propose marriage. What was wrong with him? Yet he blundered on. “I think you know what sort of role a wife plays.”

“Yes, I do. You forget, I have played it before, and I did not particularly like it.”

He couldn't believe she was saying this. “It would be different with me.”

“Would it?” She shifted her position, clutching her knees to her chest and folding her naked body in such a way that she looked as modest as a nun. Or as modest as a nun
could
look, if she'd just come fresh from a man's bed. “What about the school?” she asked, her eyes solemn.

“What about it?”

“Does the wife of the Viscount Kirkwood get to run a girl's school? Or is she expected to be a viscountess and nothing more?”

That threw him off balance. “You would want to keep running the school,” he said inanely. He'd feared as much, but still…“You do realize I can afford to keep a wife.”

“Of course,” she said softly. “That is not what I asked.”

He was in dangerous territory now, and he honestly
didn't know how to navigate. “Given your present financial difficulties with the place, I thought you might prefer to—”

“Close it? Let you absorb me into your life so the only thing I have left is you?”

“No!” Only Charlotte could make an offer of marriage sound like an insult. “I don't care about the school. It has nothing to do with this.”

She flinched as if struck. “It has
everything
to do with this, for me.”

“Why? You started it so you could support yourself.”

“I started it because I believe that women should receive a proper education. That means a great deal to me. I thought you understood that.”

He did, especially given the many letters that had passed between them. Yet part of him had hoped she'd be eager to share his life without her bloody institution intruding. “Fine. Then keep it open. I don't care.” It meant convincing her to move the school, but he could handle that better if he were her husband. “I'm sure you could find a suitable headmistress to replace—”

“So your answer is that the wife of the Viscount Kirkwood
cannot
run a girl's school.” Not meeting his gaze, she rose and found her chemise, then slid it over her head. She kept her back to him, closing him out again, which made him insane.

“Why is it so damned important for you to be the one to run it?” he asked as he too rose and slipped on his drawers. Walking up behind her, he pulled her into his embrace. At least she allowed him that.

“When I was a little girl,” she whispered, folding her arms over his, “my father knew exactly what were my favorite toys. And do you know why?”

Given what he knew of her father, he wasn't sure he could bear to hear.

“Because he used them to control me. When I made too much noise one day with my toy harp, he made me watch while he cut the strings from it one by one. Once, when I came tromping down the stairs too loudly, he took my doll. ‘This is what happens to little girls who don't walk softly,' he said, and broke her legs.”

“Oh God, Charlotte,” he said hoarsely, clutching her close and wishing her father were alive so David could break both of
his
legs.

“When I was thirteen, Mama gave me a brooch. It was only blue glass, but it had little gold specks in it and I thought it very pretty. I was careful not to let him see how much I loved it. I only wore it when he wasn't around. But as children will, I forgot one night and had it on at dinner.” Her voice grew steely. “He was drunk, as he often was at his cruelest. He said some horrible thing to Mama, and I defended her. So he took my brooch and crushed it under his heel.”

She stiffened in his arms. “That was when I learned it did not matter what I had. He would find it, and he would destroy it. So I taught myself
not
to care—about anything. Because if the choice was defying him or giving up everything I treasured in the world, I knew I would defy him to my dying breath.”

Turning in his arms, she stared up at him. “But after Jimmy died and I found myself alone and miserable, I had to have a purpose beyond survival. The school became my reason for living, my salvation. It was the first thing that belonged to me, and me alone. Even my inheritance was essentially taken from me by Jimmy. He did not do it to be
cruel—he just lacked any sense of how to handle money, and he thought we should have a jolly good time while it lasted.”

With his heart in his throat, David reached up to rub away the tears falling down her cheeks.

“I built my School for Young Ladies from nothing,” she said hoarsely. “I put my soul into it. And now you think I should just…toss it aside?”

“Of course not,” he bit out. “Contrary to what you seem to think, I'm not your father. I'm not Harris. I don't want to destroy your toys or your school. I certainly don't want to make light of your accomplishment.”

Staring down into her tormented face, he softened his tone. “But you know as well as I do that a viscountess has responsibilities. When I go to my estate in Berkshire, what do you propose to do? Stay in Richmond?” He caressed her cheek. “And what about our children? How will you be a mother to them if you're spending all your time elsewhere?”

The blood drained from her face as she pushed free of his arms. “I do not even know if I can
have
children.”

That sent a chill to his very soul. “Of course you can have children.”

“I never did while married to Jimmy. I did not even miscarry.” Her eyes were sorrowful. “What if I am barren?”

Trying not to show how much that possibility shook him, he paced to the fire. “You're just assuming that. There's no reason for you to be barren.”

“Even if I were not, thirty-six is old to be having a first child. You know that. Anything could go wrong.”

He turned to fix her with a fierce look. “Then Giles can be the heir. Let him inherit the title and carry on the family name. As long as we're together, it doesn't matter.”

“You say that now, but—”

“Damn it, I won't let you do this!” He strode up to grab her by the arms. “We finally have a chance to be together, and you want to ruin it!”

“I don't, I swear.” She cupped his face in her hands, a tear trickling down her cheek. “But neither do I want us jumping into something without giving a thought to these things. You came back into my life only three days ago. Why can't we just go on as we are? As lovers?”

“Because I want you as a wife, not a mistress.” He covered her hands with his. “I don't want us having to go sneaking around,” he said, hunting for something, anything, that would keep her from shutting him out. “I don't want to be constantly worrying about your reputation and your position, afraid to show people that we belong to each other.”

“Tell me something, David.” Her eyes shone up at him, awash with tears. “Do you love me?”

The question rocked him. How could he tell her that he'd given up on love the day she'd sent that letter?

At his hesitation, she murmured, “I thought so,” and tried to pull away.

He caught her before she could. “Surely you don't believe in love anymore, either. Love is for the young. They have the stamina to endure the wild fury of such nonsensical emotions. Mature people like us, with years of experience—”

“We are not that old, David.”

“You're the one who said thirty-six was old to be having children.” He glared at her. “I would say it's definitely too old to be countenancing a foolish idea like romantic love. People our age don't marry for love.”

She gazed solemnly at him. “Then what do they marry for?”

“For companionship. For…mutual respect, admiration, affection.” He kissed her hands. “And desire. Surely that is all any marriage needs.”

“I married without love once,” she said gently. “I have no need to do so again. If I am to consider giving up everything I have worked for, it will have to be for something more than conversation and companionship.”

“Are you saying that you're in love with
me
?” he asked bluntly.

Drawing away from him, she folded her arms about her waist. “I…I honestly do not know. I am not sure I am even capable of the sort of love a woman should have for a husband.”

For some reason, that thought disturbed him. He didn't want to examine too closely why that was. “Then love is not a consideration at all.”

“It is if you are still in love with your wife.”

“Sarah?” he said, incredulous. “She and I were never in love. Our marriage was barely more than a business transaction. You
know
that. She never pretended to love me, never said she wanted my love. As long as I agreed to bring her into the social sphere she aspired to join, she was content.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He caught his breath, remembering Sarah's suicide note. Anger surged in him, the same anger that had clawed at him since the day she'd died. “If she wasn't content, it wasn't my fault.”

“I did not say it was,” Charlotte told him softly.

But he saw only the words of that damned note:
I can no longer endure this intolerable life
.

“I did everything I could to make her happy.” He knew they sounded like empty excuses, yet he felt compelled to defend himself. “
She
was the one who refused to accompany me anywhere that didn't improve her status, and
she
was the one who showed no interest in making our marriage anything but a cold and formal union.
She
was the one who denied me her bed.”

“You didn't…the two of you didn't…”

He winced. He hadn't meant to reveal such a personal thing, but it was probably best that she know how empty his marriage had been. “Not in the last few years. After she miscarried twice, she said she wasn't going through that ‘nonsense' again, even though the physician told us there was no reason to believe she couldn't bear a child.”

Spearing his fingers through his hair, he stared past her into the fire. “It wasn't like it is with you and me. I couldn't even
talk
to her, for God's sake. If I'd realized when I courted her that she had so little to commend her beyond her pretty face, I never would have—” He broke off, guilt swamping him anew. “But then, as you once remarked, I always was inordinately fond of a pretty face.”